


Like An Eagle

by MalenkayaLedi



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 17:32:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2859125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalenkayaLedi/pseuds/MalenkayaLedi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The magical Avengers/AC crossover, prompt #1.  </p>
<p>Tony Stark is an Assassin---one of the best---until a particular Templar comes through town, searching for something which garners both their interests.  </p>
<p>Happy Holidays!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like An Eagle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Last_Winter_Rose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Last_Winter_Rose/gifts).



Think like an eagle. Like an eagle like an eagle like an eagle--- _shit_.

     “You’ll get the hang of it, Tony. You have a bit of leeway to fall this time. Remember that when you’re five hundred feet up, however, that you’re more likely to break a bone. Or several.”

That was the first day of Assassin training.

 

 

 

     It was odd, he thought as he gazed over the snowy hilltop, how much that had actually applied to all of his missions and not just his faith falls over the years. Like an eagle, he thought. Picking out the smallest, most minute details and tracking their miniscule details as they scuttled through the grass. Looking for anything that would lead him to his prey. It was hard work, looking for a target in the snow. It was far too easy for Templars to just wear white. Besides, he thought while smirking to himself, they were definitely ostentatious enough to do so. No thought or concern for sneaking in shadow, he thought as he reminisced about last week’s mark. Such a shame, really. It would make them a lot more fun to track down.

After another hour or so he gave up on his target. If he wasn’t going to show up before sundown, he wasn’t going to show up at all. It was far too late in the season to be out after dark. It was already freezing when the sun was up, never mind when the sun was down. Nobody, not even a Templar, was that stupid. Sheathing his bow, he jumped from the temple steeple down onto the cart of hay that had been conveniently placed there earlier. Such a shame. He really didn’t want to have to wait another day for the new Templar commander to roll into town. Sighing, he started to scale down the side of the steeple. If his day had been useless, he was damn well going to make sure that his night was somewhat profitable.

 

 

 

      “Tony! Tony! For Hel’s sake, you bastard. Wake up!”.

Groaning, he lifted his head and massaged his temples with his index fingers. He had fallen asleep at his workstation early that morning while he had been sketching out new plans for a device. He admired the usefulness of his bow, but he wanted something much more personal. Besides, he liked the thrill of a close encounter with his marks. Made things much more entertaining. Wiping the sleep out of his eyes, he groggily turned to face the intruder.

     Well, he thought. Less of an intruder. More of an alarm clock.

Natasha was originally a Templar from a neighboring group in the south. Tony had been there a couple of times, stowing away on fishing boats and managing to survive off of the tails of pickled catches and the ends of mead barrels when he had been informed through a drop that he was being followed. When he had gotten back home he had discovered her hiding out in the shed where he stored old tools in the back. Instead of killing her, like he reminded himself that he should have done when she woke him up at a reasonable time in the morning, he had taken her to The Fury. In return for her life, she turned spy for them. Tony still wouldn’t trust her as far as he could throw a stick but her information was useful and, as he reminded himself, she had come damn near close to succeeding. He was only half listening to her babbling as he ran his fingers through his hair.

      “---And your mark came in late last night, you ass. Right after dark. Rode into town and everything, stabled his horses down with the farrier, and disappeared into the foothills this morning. Hopefully he was eaten by giants or something, but ‘Fury was absolutely furious when he found out that you had left before dark.”

“It was freezing, Natasha. What was I supposed to do, throw an icicle at him? Besides, it isn’t like he’s going anywhere. We know that much.”. Tony threw down his cape and unbuckled his overcoat, looking for something less suspicious to wear. And warm. And possibly furry. He liked furry.

     “You idiot, now that he’s made it into town it’ll be even harder to make it look low profile. What are you supposed to do, pull off an assassination during praye—DON’T YOU DARE.”, Natasha snapped at him. She was right, he decided as she shuffled through the pile of clothing that was draped over the chair and threw his red tunic at him. At the very least it would be disrespectful to the gods. “We might as well check up on our guest. Come on, shove that on.”.

Twenty minutes later he had washed his hair and face and changed his clothes. Wrapping himself up in a cloak and slipping on a pair of boots, he begrudgingly met Natasha who had propped herself outside of his doorway and was adding a braid to her hair.

     “Come on,”, she said, straitening herself out. “Let’s go before we’re missed.”. Tony rolled his eyes. He hated council meetings.

 

 

 

“…and we’re happy to welcome our new ambassador from the North. He’ll be overseeing---good to see you finally make it, Stark. Romanov.”

      Tony groaned. He had hoped to sneak in the back unnoticed. He should’ve known better.

“’Fury.”, Natasha nodded politely. “Nice to see you.”.

     The Fury was the unofficial spokesperson for the town council. He had held the position for years, likely because nobody wanted to tell the tall and heavily muscled berserker to step down. A highly respected warrior, The Fury had managed to keep peace and control for as long as Tony or anyone else could remember. He stood taller than their tallest warrior with smooth, dark skin and an eye patch over his left eye. The story on how he lost the eye varied from season. The most popular version that circulated the mead halls on long nights was that he had lost it in a particularly awkward skirmish involving three barbarians and a bear but Tony often said it was from looking at his sword with the pointy end.

“As I was saying before we were interrupted,” the large man continued, glaring at them and motioning them to take a seat, “We are to welcome our new ambassadors from the North.”

     Tony, having been shoved into a bench by Natasha who clucked at him deep in her throat, was playing with the edge of his cloak. He glared at her. She gave him a meaningful glare and glanced towards the filled chairs at the front. Right, as he checked himself, the “ambassadors from the North”. A man, very slender, who would be very tall when he stood up with almond shaped eyes that glinted emerald green in the light reflected through the windows and off the elaborate torches which lined the walls of the hall. Medium length dark hair, pulled back and kept up by a leather tong inlaid with gold filigree. Clean shaven, high cheekbones and a noble nose. His clothes were impeccably well made, boots embroidered with green and gold threads that would probably prove to match his eyes if held next to them. He matched the description of his missed mark perfectly.

Tony spent the rest of the meeting glaring angrily at the ceiling.

**Author's Note:**

> Short chapter, I know. But I really liked this idea and I love the game series. I'll have more chapters up shortly!


End file.
